Mattaki Sekai
by Kaze-chan
Summary: Yes, this is a reincarnation fic. No, probably not in the way you're thinking. Starring NURIKO! Yes, yes, I am very aware he's the star of most reincarnation fics around here. Still, I couldn't help myself!


  
DISCLAIMER: My birthday's coming up (right after Thanksgiving!), so if you want to be nice and get me a present, get me a good one! Like, say, _Nuriko!!!!_ Because much as I wish I did, I don't own him or anything associated with FY!   
AUTHOR'S NOTES: This is a reincarnation fic - but probably not in the way you're thinking ~_~ What? I have a penchant for being original!   
And this is my first NURIKO fic! It's amazing!   
Warnings: couple swear words, some angst but not all THAT much (this might be my least-angsty piece yet!), spoilers for basically the whole series, and a "psychiatrist from hell" ~_~   
Time period: right after OVAs 1 and 2 (written without any knowledge of OVA 3)   
Just ONE last quick note, I promise! This fic is totally, completely dedicated to Ryuen, the fan fiction author extraordinaire. I promised myself that when I published my first Nuriko fic, she'd get at least a mention - her being the complete Nuriko-phile (like me! ~_~) So Ryuen, this one's for you!   
  


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They were gone. All of them. Hotohori, Mitsukake, Chiriko, each had left before him, returning to begin their new lives. They would have a fresh start, another chance to be happy. As he would. But… where would he go?   
It was as Taiitsu-kun had told Miaka when she had left their world for the final time, each of the spirits were being granted a new opportunity at life. They would be reborn, in the bodies they selected, would grow, live, and die, to be reborn again in the endless circle that never altered its course. Unending, repeating, whirling like the wind in autumn… and he had no clue what to do with himself.   
The Suzaku no shichiseishi Nuriko stood - if you could call it standing - in the… _place_ he'd been since Tenkou had been defeated. He didn't know if it was part of heaven, or a place in hell. There didn't seem to be any light, but he could see himself perfectly - solid, as he had been in life, not the ghostly form that had been permitted to return to the land of the living. The familiar outfit, the last he'd ever worn, made of warm violet and pale fabric was wrapped around him like a comfortable blanket, the delicate slippers encasing his feet, the rich yellow sash belting it all together. But something still seemed… off… about it, somehow.   
Just as the place he was in was "off". He knew why. It was not his place anymore, now that new beginnings had come, just as soon that outfit would no longer be his, would return to dust as it had been before. All around him was a tangible darkness, he could reach out and feel it, like a strange, living water, though not cruel like the waters of Hikou had been. It was where he'd awakened after he'd died, where he'd spent the last two years with his three friends. It had been wonderful, that time, even though they shouldn't have had it. The natural laws had been cheated, but finally, after all the times of trying, the abortive efforts even with the help of Suzaku, they could be reborn.   
The water-air around him quivered with the not-sound of the god's voice. **Shichiseishi Nuriko, you are the last.** Suzaku's voice was regal, even more so than Hotohori's. The voice of an emperor not over just one country, but over an entire universe. He briefly wondered if the other gods sounded as grand. **It is now your turn to be reborn. Have you decided where you want to be, who you want to be?**   
Nuriko looked down at his feet, the smooth, nearly weightless fabric resting against his skin. He didn't know, that was the problem. By rights he should have been the first to go, but he just didn't _know_ what he wanted to happen. He wasn't even sure if he wanted to be male or female. None of the others had had these problems. Hotohori would be near his child. Mitsukake was with his beloved Shoka. Chiriko's only condition was there had to be at least one large library nearby. But how could he explain to a god that he couldn't make the choice a thirteen-year-old could? That he would, in fact, prefer to remain a spirit, remembering his last life, his wonderful friends, his loves?   
He thought he heard Suzaku… chuckle? Impossible. Gods weren't supposed to have a sense of humor… were they? **There hasn't been this much trouble with a rebirth in years. I suppose we shall have to take the long way, it must be done.** The god began to speak in a language much different than the one Nuriko knew, although he thought he heard one or two familiar words. And suddenly, he was… was shrinking! He was getting smaller! The ground rushed up at him so fast he thought he was falling, but halted about four feet from his face. However, he kept going, getting tangled in the circus tent that was now his shirt and losing his legs in the ballooning pants, falling over and managing to catch himself with his arms.   
He looked up, looked everywhere, trying to find Suzaku to demand to know what the hell was going on, why him being any smaller would help anything, but movement around his body arrested the question. In the same way the air was water, so now were his clothes. They were flowing and changing, altering colors and sizes, shrinking to fit his now much smaller form. A tunic of yellow and green settled itself perfectly over his shoulders, while matching light purple pants were formed of the overly-large pale pink ones. His hair, he could feel his hair also changing. It was growing out of the shaggy, homemade cut he'd given it in Hokkan, growing, growing, till it was almost two feet in length - not as long as when he'd cut it, but as long as it had been when he was ten. When… He could feel it rolling itself into a bun, the ribbon tying itself to keep his relatively enormous amount of hair in. Sturdy child's boots appeared on his feet, replacing the slippers. It had happened. He was ten again.   
"Suzaku…" He winced at his voice. It sounded so young, so naïve, so… deep. Who could ever have thought a child's voice could be deep? But he'd been living as Kourin so long, almost anything was possible. After all, hadn't he been the one to pitch his voice higher when she died? When he was living as her in the palace, one of several trying to get the emperor to notice "her"? Even after his secret had been revealed he talked that way, mostly due to habit, partially to keep the rest of himself hidden, and partially… partly because he didn't know if Ryuen's voice still existed inside himself. "Suzaku, why are you doing this?" He pushed himself up to his knees with his hands, then stood, the floor still looking too close for his comfort. "Why am I ten again?"   
**Answer me this, Nuriko.** He braced himself for the god's question, feeling certain he knew it already. **You do not know where you want to go. You are not sure who you want to be, isn't that right?** Nuriko silently nodded, looking at the floor. **This will help you decide.**   
"_How?_ I'm sorry if I sound presumptuous, but I honestly don't see how making me younger will help anything."   
**You are also one of the most difficult ones I've had to work with.**   
"What'd you expect? I'm me!"   
**Precisely. And therein lies the problem. Look, Ryuen.** He winced again at the sound of his real name, but watched as from someplace out of the darkness and water-air a glow appeared. Far away at first, but gradually brightening, it came closer, not banishing the dark, but coexisting with it. The spark of light resolved itself into the most beautiful mirror he'd ever seen, a large, full length one of the type that only the best merchants sold, with a frame of silver worked into delicate scallops and swirls, beautiful but not ornate. He could see himself plainly in the glass, short, as he'd always been, in his clothes of yellow and green, his eyes wide and wary as they'd never been at that time of his life, warrior's eyes. But behind him, even in him, he thought he saw a flicker of purple, pink, a familiar, shaggy hair cut… Then his image faded, replaced by a scene he'd seen in nightmares for years: the bustling square in the market, voices calling cheerfully to each other, and he, the person he now was again, walking through it complacently, headed for his father's shop near the center of town, one of the most prosperous in the area. And several feet behind him, there was a small figure, almost identical to himself, dressed in pale pink and beige, hair done up in buns on either side of her head. She was running, waving, calling… _nii-sama! Nii-sama!…_ and he turned, seeing her, and could only watch, unbelieving, as the laden cart lost control, could not stop, and she didn't see it, and ran out into the street, and…   
The blood. The blood was everywhere, soaking her clothes, her hair, even her delicate face. She just lay there, a marionette with her strings cut, tossed in a corner and forgotten. Now that Nuriko knew what to look for, he could detect the faint red flash that appeared on his mirror image's skin, silently aiding him in throwing aside the struggling horse, and the cart with it. He picked up her fallen form, cradling her in his arms, not caring if his clothes were stained by her blood. Nuriko's sleeves were suddenly heavy, and he looked down to see them turning a dull reddish-brown, the color creeping slowly upwards towards his shoulders, exactly as in the mirror.   
"STOP!" He'd lived this nightmare time and time again after it had happened, in dreams during night and day, his memories torturing him, thinking that he could have saved her, if he'd only moved, hadn't been just staring in disbelief, and since he had… he was a bad person. He should have been the one to die, not her, not the bright light that shone in all their lives, so… he must be dead. That was it. He was dead, and she was alive. Yes. He was dead… She was alive… He… was her. "SUZAKU! I beg you, STOP!" Nuriko fell to his knees, weeping softly. Was he going to be forced to live through his every torture yet again?!   
**No, Nuriko.** Suzaku's voice came easily through his weeping. The genuine sadness in the godly voice seemed to reach out to him, embrace him in its warmth, comfort him. **I am sorry, I truly am, but the death of Kourin was the defining incident in your life. If it had not happened, if any one thing about that day had been changed, your life would not have lead you where it did. You must understand that.** He felt a gentle force prodding him inexorably to his feet, even as the weight disappeared from his arms. He looked down to see the clothing rippling again, the yellow turning to a flowing pink patterned with light purple. The purple on his legs also became the pink fabric, swirling about him as he sank to his knees again, disbelieving, staring at the mirror. Ryuen had found his sister's things, later that day, had removed her favorite dress from the basket his mother had packed it in, put it on, and knelt in front of her little mirror. Their mother had just let Kourin start wearing make-up, and she had applied it every day, just as he was doing at that moment, with him watching, anxiously waiting for her to finish so they could go out and play. Ryuen undid his bun and let half his hair fall down his back, while fixing the rest in a feminine bun on the back of his head. Nuriko felt his hair tumbling down his back, the mirror image of Ryuen-in-the-mirror, tasted the delicate lipstick, the powder of the light eye shadow and rouge brushing his lids and cheeks. "Suzaku… why…"   
**Just watch.** Ryuen knelt, eyes streaming tears down his cheeks, before his sister's mirror… _You aren't dead Kourin…_ Nuriko could hear him think … _you aren't dead because I will live for you. I… am you, Kourin. We will always be together…_ Nuriko's eyes began to spill over, tears like liquid crystal trickling down his cheeks, marking trails through the make-up he did not know how to remove this time, turning red with the rouge, falling from his cheeks onto his hands, braced on the floor in front of him. He was crying for himself, this time, for the stupid little boy who believed that if he wore a dress he would bring his sister back… and it hadn't, and his life had been ruined. Maybe not ruined… but it hadn't gone as it should have. And he hadn't been able to return to it until right before he'd died… "Stop…" he whispered to the mirror. "Don't do it… Listen to me, don't do it… Ryuen! Stop! Stop! _Stop!_ STOP!" He launched himself at the mirror, pounded on it with his right fist, tears running unheeded down his cheeks and falling onto the dress, being absorbed there as Ryuen's were… _I am you, Kourin…_ "STOP! You don't know what you're doing! _Listen to me! STOP!_"   
**Nuriko…** There was a flash of light behind him, brilliant red, and suddenly warm hands were on his small shoulders, pulling him gently away from the mirror, turning him to look in the other direction. Suzaku-seikun was there, his face full of pain and sorrow, pain for him, for Nuriko, Ryuen. Nuriko looked away, he couldn't face a god who felt pity for him. The same warm hand turned his head back to look into the god's eyes of fire, the saddest fire there'd ever been. **Nuriko, listen to me. You can't change the past. What you see, now, in this mirror, it has already happened. Much as you wish to, you cannot change it. This is what happened. But…** Nuriko looked up, holding on to that one word. **You have another chance. You must make up your mind, then you will be reborn. And everything will begin again. Kourin may die, you may die, you all may die, but you will have had another chance at least. Do you understand why this is happening to you now?**   
"Kourin… You said Kourin." This was it, his one hope to set things RIGHT again… "Does that mean I'll be reborn with her?"   
Suzaku nodded. **If you wish, you can be.**   
"Where is she? I haven't seen her since… since I died." The word was harder to say now, now that he was so close to life again, perhaps life with his other half.   
**When you died, her task was over, and she was born again.** Suzaku smiled gently, an expression that should have been out of place on that unreadable face, but somehow suited him. **Her soul is waiting for yours to join her, if you wish. And if you wish to remain with your friends, she wishes you the best happiness.**   
"My friends…" That's right. The others. How could he forget about the others? Chichiri and Tasuki were still alive, but they were wandering together now, it was possible he could join them - when his new self was a bit older. And Mitsukake and Chiriko and… Hotohori. His breath caught at the thought. He could choose to be a woman, and he could finally be with the one he loved… A pair of laughing emerald eyes appeared suddenly before him, rich brown hair dancing on the wind, a cheerful voice calling his name… _Nuriko…_ It was… her he loved, not Hotohori. He loved Hotohori's kindness, his generous spirit, his caring, admired him as a person he himself could never be, but… Something was happening again. His hair grew astoundingly long, long enough to touch the floor loose, to come down to his knees braided, and twisted itself into an elaborate style… and he was growing too, returning to the proportions he'd known for the last few years. The pink child's dress was swirled away and replaced by a gown fit for a court princess, which was what he now was… Kourin-san, a member of the harem heika-sama never visited, keeping mostly to "herself" to avoid having the secret discovered, vying with the others for Hotohori's hand. He turned to the mirror again, and he saw himself watching the fateful day more than two years before, the day he'd first seen Miaka and Tamahome. Kourin was standing behind a pillar on one of the wide verandas in the palace, maids grouped behind another and whispering nervously, watching the newly found miko and seishi test the "valiant men" that had been gathered at the palace. And when that stupid miko had managed to get a gazebo toppled on her, the elegant princess had appeared and tossed aside the rubble like so many pebbles.   
Nuriko felt all the emotions he had felt that day, but much less severe - the anger that some _child_ from another world would steal _his_ emperor, the envy that she was getting the emperor's attention, all the other dark emotions, and he hated himself for it. Things would have been so much _easier_ if he could have just accepted Miaka from the start. But it had taken her learning his secret… his hair and clothes changed once again, his hair retreating into the half-bun, half-loose style, a simple traveling dress replacing his court gown, as he saw the scene next to the pond in the forest where Miaka had discovered what was… not there under the dress. Then, in quick succession, the evil Miaka telling all, the real Miaka trying to kill herself, him saving her life, meeting Taiitsu-kun, sending her back… Then another change, a return to the outfit of a court princess, and the long three months she was gone where he realized just how much she meant… though at the time he thought of her only as a friend, perhaps almost as a sister. Suzaku watched with him, his hands still on Nuriko's shoulders, holding him there and making sure he watched.   
Nuriko smiled as the liquid clothing once again swirled, turning a bright pink trimmed in white, forming into the first tunic he'd worn in eight years. The elaborate skirt melded around his legs, then expanded to fit them comfortably, coloring sunset-yellow, tiny cords wrapping themselves around the white stockings that emerged from his black slippers and up his legs. A soft sash encircled his waist and he welcomed it, starting to feel more like himself. There was only one thing missing… ah, there it was. His hair spilled itself over his shoulder and braided itself quickly, as if his hands were still plying the silky soft mass of violet. Behind him he could hear Suzaku stand, taking the warmth of his hands off Nuriko's shoulders now that there was no danger of the seishi refusing to watch. Day after day played out in the mirror, Nuriko watching with a slight smile on his face, as Miaka forced him to dress as a boy and help her look for the seishi, meeting Tasuki, and Shoka, and Mitsukake, and "Chiriko", who hadn't been evil in the end. He could feel the him in the mirror grow closer every day to the others, but especially Miaka. He couldn't pick out the exact time when he'd began loving her, even now that he knew what to look for, but he could feel it develop in his mirror self as the days went by in flashes. Everything they'd done together, everything they'd been through… he was truly happy again, he was.   
"Suzaku…" he spoke up when they'd reached the botched summoning, "I still don't get it, why do I need to see this? What's this supposed to do?"   
He could hear the god sigh. **You are, undoubtedly, the most troublesome reincarnation I've had to deal with. Wait a minute.**   
SHOOM. "I feel like a demented weed…" Nuriko grumbled, looking at his again child-sized hands as Kourin's half-bun was retied in his hair and the pink and purple fabric resettled itself over his arms.   
**Nuriko, this is supposed to _teach_ you something, now pay attention.** Nuriko looked up into Suzaku's now stern eyes and immediately turned himself around completely to give the mirror his undivided attention.   
One after the other, following in an unstoppable pain-filled dance, he saw the other boys he'd been friends with, and the girls as well, stop associating with him as he continued to wear the dresses belonging to his dead sister, answering only to her name. He saw himself assaulted once or twice, until the bullies realized just what that red mark on his chest meant and turned to talking behind his back. He saw his parents encouraging the rumor that their son had died and their daughter lived, ashamed of him and not wanting to bring scandal on the family. Then Rokou, trying to understand his actions but unable to, and finally slowly pulling away from him as his so-called friends had. Then being sent to live with his aunt and uncle, which hadn't been too bad, all things considered, since no one there knew of his deception. Then his arrival at the palace… and seeing Hotohori-sama… seeing in him the perfect man for Kourin and maybe even falling in love himself. The stares and whispers of the court girls when he didn't mix in, the gossip behind his back, the times he'd nearly been assaulted and abused by drunk guards and other males, all of them born for love of a man who hadn't known he existed until he saved the miko's life. His hair and clothing melted and flowed as each new scene appeared, feeling the joy as well as the pain of the person he'd been at those times. His heart ripped or soared depending on what he saw, and more than one he began to cry. Suzaku did not move back to the comforting place behind him, instead remained a few feet back, watching both slowly-growing boy and mirror with a blank expression on his face. This time the mirror skipped over everything that happened since he'd met Miaka and went straight to the arrival of the real Chiriko, when disaster had befallen them yet hope was sparked, his pink and white outfit once again appearing along with his familiar long braid. Then…   
Tama's family. Where, once and for all, he'd given up being Kourin and been… a man. He'd been Nuriko, the Suzaku no shichiseishi, for the first real time then, not thinking of himself, only thinking _save her… gotta save her…_ risking himself to protect Miaka. Despite the grief, despite the rage, he'd been proud of himself when the dust from the attack had settled, had found the courage to stand up to the one they thought had been their friend, even when they learned they were horribly, horribly wrong. But it had not been Amiboshi, their friend, one he could forgive for past crimes; it was his brother, who had killed in cold blood. He'd stopped Tamahome's mad attack, sustaining bruises but not caring about them for once, they didn't matter to this new him, to the real him. Nuriko was crying, crying into his dark-purple sleeves, kneeling in front of the mirror with one hand pressed to the glass, watching his "little brother" go through the same torture he had… again… hearing the mirror-him break down as well, repeating Tamahome's name, Miaka's, all of the few things he could scramble for to remind Tamahome of who he was.   
The scene dissolved abruptly as it never had before, flashing into their time on the boat, when the storm had erupted and he, Tama, and Miaka had been thrown overboard, only to wind up in the small fishermen's cave with an unconscious Tama and a soaking Miaka. Who he'd literally had to pry the clothes off of, which hadn't been too hard, all things considered; she could never stand up to his strength. Nuriko had to laugh as he saw that scene again, clothing flying everywhere, Miaka trying to hit him and failing miserably as he laid her clothes out to dry by the fire he'd managed to get going. Then he pulled off his own shirt to dry it out. He heard scrabbling behind him, and when he looked he saw Miaka sitting with her back to him, arms wrapped tight around her chest, and, he could tell, blushing furiously. Then both Nurikos felt the same sensation, one more strongly than the other - the abrupt shock that he was a _boy_, not some genderless freak like many people claimed him to be, and in front of him sat the girl… the girl he'd come to love.   
Yes, he'd known then, known that somewhere in the back of his mind he'd always loved her that way, somehow knew that soon it was going to come to a head. He also knew that she deeply loved the man, the boy really, who was lying unconscious on the other side of the cave, near the fire, but he couldn't help himself. He found his way over to her, smiling… _What's up, Miaka? Thinking about me?…_ no reply… _Now that I know I have no chance with His Highness, maybe now…_ he gently took her chin in his hand, turning her to face him… the deeper voice, much closer to what Ryuen's would have been, seemed to come out of nowhere… _I should go back to being a boy and try chasing girls, instead…_ he had seen the look in her eyes, one of confusion, and could not help just once looking at her with a look of love in his own eyes, trying to calm her as Tama did…   
Then he slapped himself mentally in the head, coming to his senses, and abruptly burst out laughing, falling on his back and pounding the floor as she screamed his name with revenge all over her face. Fortunately Tamahome had woken up then, or it might have… but no. She wouldn't let it, and he wouldn't make her. He respected her too much, loved her too much to do anything to her.   
"Suzaku… I know I'm a pain, and a difficult student, but _what_ is this supposed to teach me?" Nuriko fingered the braid he hadn't had in two years, had gotten so used to being without he'd forgotten what it was like to have it.   
Suzaku hesitated a minute before answering. **Perhaps, seishi, teach is the wrong word. This mirror is meant to show your life, as it happened, both the highs and the lows, and help you make a decision about your reincarnation. Truthfully we've only had to use it twice in the past, most people seem to know what they want.** Nuriko definitely noticed the deep irony in Suzaku's voice on those last few words as his bracelets shone red and morphed into his arm guards, echoing the ones in the mirror. **In other words, it teaches you your life and helps you pick another. Have you made your decision?**   
Nuriko glanced at the mirror, now showing Soi's rampaging attack on their ship just before arriving in Hokkan, faintly hearing himself think _Miaka… gotta save her… then the others… then me…_ He looked back at Suzaku, still fingering his braid, unsure how to mask the troubled expression on his face.   
The phoenix god unexpectedly smiled and gestured back towards the mirror. **Then keep watching…** His voice became unusually sad. **There isn't much left.**   
Suddenly the stench of alcohol invaded his nostrils as the purple coat materialized and wrapped itself around him, the first thing he'd smelled in this place, and much stronger than he thought it should have been. But he was grateful for smelling anything at all after such a long time. The very, very drunk man in the mirror was gripping his image's chin, and he felt his complete rage that, beautiful though he was and wouldn't deny it, this country bum, this uneducated pig herder, this… this… TRAMP would hit on _him?!_ Soon the man was the one being hit on. Literally. He sailed across the room and smashed into the wall, rolling down and landing in an unconscious heap on the floor. He sat down again, dusting his hands… _Sorry, I'm not that easy._   
Then the teasing from his friends about him looking like a woman, and though he knew they weren't serious at all, he'd had about enough lately, what with his growing, confusing feelings for Miaka, the cold climate, the eyes of the men watching him, and more… _Oh, so I shouldn't look like a girl, is that it?…_ And he found his knife and before anyone could protest, he swiftly cut his braid and it fell into his hand.   
Nuriko cried out suddenly as the braid he'd once again gotten used to playing with suddenly began to fray at the ends, the frayed pieces falling off and being swept away into the darkness by some invisible wind, disappearing within seconds to be replaced by other fragments, leaving him as he had been at the start of this mad experiment, shaggy-haired and purple-clothed. This was madness, it really was, what _sense_ did it make to take a person and make them live their entire life in an hour, or however long it had taken, make them suffer and hope and expect again, all to take it away from them?! He surged to his feet defiantly, arms held in a fighting stance. "Suzaku, STOP!" he roared, his real voice, the voice he should have had all along.   
**Have you made your decision?**   
"NO! I want OUT! I don't _care_ where you send me, or who I am, just make this _stop_!" Hot tears blurred his vision, and even as the wondering thought of _didn't think a ghost could cry_ passed through his mind he sank to his knees again, anger and grief and sadness and joy and hope and envy and longing and hate and madness all mixing in his heart, a boiling turmoil that threatened to consume him even as the mirror in front of him continued apathetically through its uncaring ballet, leaving him behind and his mind in tatters. He knew not where the lines between reality and fantasy lay, nor the one between life and death; for the past while he'd been both and no longer knew what to expect. He just knew he wanted _out_, wanted to get away from that to _either_ side of the line, where at least there were definable rules that had to be obeyed.   
**Nuriko…** He didn't look up, refused to look at a god who would torture his chosen this way. **Nuriko, look up now.** He still refused, his face buried in his arms, weeping into his sleeves, caring not a whit about the feelings of a torturer.   
**CHO RYUEN, LOOK!** The same hands, before so gentle, hauled him up from his slump and forcibly turned him to face the mirror. Nuriko found he could not close his eyes, could only glance down the mildest bit as the warm purple coat, now stained with his tears, vanished from around him. He noticed dimly the wound that Ashitare had given him in their first fight was now back in place, dressed neatly by the inn matron after that fateful brawl where he'd saved Miaka's life - again. The same kind woman had also repaired the hole in his sleeve. You couldn't tell he'd been hurt, unless you were him - or the blue-haired boy who sat next to him at the bar… _I found myself in love with Miaka as a man…_ There it was. His ultimate confession. His complete abandonment of Kourin. He couldn't turn back now, and somehow… it was all right. Even though he'd have to fashion himself a completely new life - after all, most people thought Cho Ryuen was dead - and he had sworn to never forget her, it was… all right. Even though he'd never have Miaka's love… _You don't have to worry. She's happy with you, and I wouldn't want to interfere with that. You two have something special…_ he'd give up his happiness for hers. That was how deep his love ran. At one time, it had run just as deep for Hotohori-sama, he didn't deny it, but it no longer was. That had been his love as Kourin, and now his love as Ryuen… he'd be content to simply watch over them the rest of their lives, maybe take care of their little children… The real Nuriko smiled through his tears at the thought. That moment, not when Tama's family had died, was when he'd set himself on the new path, unsure of what to expect but knowing he'd be himself… him… self…   
"Suzaku, you can stop it now," he whispered. He knew what was coming. He knew what had happened. He no longer needed to see more of his past to make up his mind. The mirror in front of him suddenly blanked out, the glass returning to its normal reflective purpose. He was a mess, he had to admit: eyes red-rimmed with crying, tear streaks down his cheeks, clothes rumpled, hair mussed. But still he smiled. "Suzaku… how much of myself am I allowed to keep?"   
He didn't know how, but he could feel Suzaku smile. **As much as can be salvaged, without your memories. Your personality can be mostly, if not all the same. If you want, you can probably even look the same, or at least very close. Now, for the last time, I ask you: have you made your decision?**   
Nuriko looked down at his hands: small, delicate, perfectly manicured, but possessing great strength. Somehow they seemed an integral part of him now, as if that part represented the whole. "I want to try again. Try being Ryuen again. Maybe without my duties as a seishi this time, I can be myself." He looked up, but Suzaku had vanished, and the revealing mirror with him. Nuriko knew he'd never see either again.   
**That is what I thought you would say. Now, Nuriko, you have one last decision to make. Where do you want to be reborn?**   
He winced. He had known this was coming, but he had put it off time and time again. Hoping for a little more insight, he raised his voice in question. "What do you mean?"   
**You can be reborn anywhere you wish, even on the other side of the world. But for you, I think there would only be two choices. With your sister, or with your miko and fellow seishi.**   
Nuriko sighed. He'd known it, he'd just _known_ - wait. "_Miko_ and fellow seishi? You mean… they're all together?!"   
He could feel Suzaku nod. **Yes, the other seishi also chose to be near their miko. Their other wishes will be granted in due time.**   
"Why didn't you TELL me this before?! Arrrg!" But now the choice was even harder. The other seishi HAD to be in Miaka's world for that wish to have come true. Which meant they'd lost all memory of their country Konan, become natives of Miaka's as Tamahome had. And so could he. But… Kourin… he couldn't just abandon her like that, especially if he was going to be _himself_ again… "Suzaku…" he said slowly. "Where did Kourin chose to be reborn?"   
All around him the water-air vibrated with Suzaku's silent laugh. **The little one was very perceptive - and apparently so are you. Yes, Nuriko, you are thinking correctly. Your sister knew how hard it would be for you to decide, so she was also reborn in Suzaku no Miko's world, not far from the miko herself. "Besides," she told me, "I want to meet this girl nii-chan's gone head over heels for."**   
Nuriko burst out laughing. Clever, clever Kourin. "She was always the smartest of us three."   
**So I take it you know where, and who, and are not going to change your mind?**   
Nuriko smiled. Change his mind? That was impossible. Kourin had made it possible for him to be with both of the people he couldn't bear to tear himself away from. And now he was going to join her. "Hai."   
**Then farewell, Suzaku no shichiseishi Nuriko. You have served well.**   
A ghostly light shone down around him, bright enough to almost completely wash out his dark hair, small sparks of silver and red dancing through the glow like lazy fireflies. Nuriko was filled with a warmth he'd only experienced once before - the warmth of Suzaku, that he had felt when he had died. He glanced once more heavenward. "Suzaku… Arigato."   
Then a flash of light.   
Then nothing.   
  


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AUTHOR'S NOTES II: This fic was kind of weird to write. It was fun, but I had absolutely no idea where it would take me, or even what the ending would be. Then bam, I hit on a possible ending and it just wrapped itself up. I love it when stories do that ~_~   
There's so many different ways to picture Nuriko reborn, and most cases seem to fit him. However, I personally have always kind of felt that he was jipped of his life when Kourin died and he became her, and then once he got back to himself he gets killed! NOT FAIR! ~sniff sniff~ So I guess this was kind of my way to let him live his own life again.   
Anyways, enough of my ramblings! My birthday really IS soon, so if you can't give me Nuriko, just tell me what you think of this story and I'll count it as a present! Ja ne! ~_~   
PS-- If ya wanted to know, the title means "Perfect World" ~_~ Yes, I aped the title from the wonderful song, but it somehow seemed to fit.   
PPS-- And as always, any mangling of the anime dialogue is completely unintentional and only due to the fact that I can't check up on it. 


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